The need for a radical spirit in achieving parity

As we continue talking about diversity and parity in theatre, the running theme seems to be: What are we striving towards? What does it look like?

The need to articulate a vision and define goals has been a kind of zeitgeist for weeks now, and I'm of two minds about it.

The pragmatist in me says, "Yes, we need to define goals and create strategies to achieve them."

But the radical in me says, "We need to focus on the root of the problem."

It goes without saying that I think we need both, but outside of activist circles, calling someone radical is another way of calling them insane. This is unfortunate because a radical perspective gives us a way to analyze and transform power structures, which is where I believe the real work has to be done.

Let's be real. Racial and gender disparity in American theatre didn't "just happen." They have always been part of the history of American theatre. That history has been one that has upheld the structures of patriarchy and white supremacy. Thus, the vast majority of American institutions are built on racism and sexism. I don't mean this in the sense of the personal convictions of individuals, but in the sense of how organizations and institutions plug into legal, financial, social, educational, geographical, and cultural structures that allow them to exist. To put it simply, the vast majority of organizations--all organizations, not just theatrical ones--benefit on some level from the exclusion and disenfranchisement of women and/or people of color. In theatre, this impacts every aspect of what we do, especially when it comes to access to resources like money and space.

Without a radical perspective, there is no way we can fully understand, let alone change, that given circumstance. I will not pretend for one second that this is easy. Power structures are deeply embedded within how society functions, which also means that they find themselves embedded within organizational cultures. However, until we get a handle on how power works within an organization and/or an industry, I don't anticipate any deep or lasting change happening. I can see it happening like those corporations that realize they have a racial diversity problem, but simply hire a few people of color instead of looking at ways they can change their organizational culture so that more people of color would want to work there.

It's not that I don't believe we should figure out precisely what the fuck all of this is supposed to look like in the end. I do believe that's crucial. But unless we place that within a context of understanding and changing power structures, I can't say that we'd actually accomplish those goals we set for ourselves.

2013 theatre resolution: turning ideas into action

I'll be the first to admit that it's really easy for me to get lost into thinking so much about something that I forget that I can do something with it. First of all, the inside of my head is an incredibly fascinating place to be. Second of all, I'm often beset by crippling insecurity, which makes it hard to trust and act on my vision of things. I know this needs to change.

I've used a lot of pixels to talk about diversity in theatre, especially when it comes to race, but I have to confess something: I'm tired of saying the same damn thing. I'm tired of listening to the same damn thing. If, at this point, anybody is still not convinced that diversity is a real problem that requires real effort to fix, there's nothing I can say now that will change their mind. So why waste my time? At this point, diversity in theatre would be better served by me simply creating and putting up my own stuff than participating in any conversation how important diversity is.

That's not to say that discussion is meaningless. Just Do It might work well for a Nike slogan, but I do think that the best actions are those that come from creating a vision, clarifying core principles, and developing a strategy. That said, I do think we must be careful not to get lost in spinning our wheels and following up with real action.

The sad thing is that I know it can be done. I know because I'm seeing it happen in the synagogue I'm a member of. Several people on my synagogue's Anti-Racism Task Force initially came as a way to honor the work and memory of a member who had passed away. However, through several house meetings, we got a real sense of who we were and where we wanted to go. Then we got the Board involved, and that led to several of us participating in an Undoing Racism workshop geared toward religious communities. From there, that led: to a sermon about race for the High Holy Days, organizing house meetings to get more people involved with learning about and doing more with anti-racism at the synagogue, and working with synagogues for Jews of color to make our congregation truly welcoming and inclusive. There is a lot more going on, but I hope you see what I'm getting at.

I must make it clear that most of the people on the Anti-Racism Task Force were not starving artists like me. Most of them were working adults with jobs and families. Most of us don't identify as activists, either. We all come from different backgrounds and life experiences which inform our perspectives. That said, we committed to learning and growing together, and that allowed us to make huge strides in a short amount of time.

This is the experience I want to replicate in theatre. With that in mind, I know I have to make some real decisions.

My first real decision, then, is to only work with people who are committed to anti-racism in theatre. Even if I'm working with an all-women's group or all-LGBTQ organization, experience has taught me that lacking a commitment to anti-racism leads to excluding and exploiting the people of color within these institutions. It's a strategic organizing decision based on how I've seen these things pan out (confirmed by my participation in the Undoing Racism workshop).

This doesn't mean that the whole organization needs to have a complete anti-racist analysis from the onset (though it helps). There are a variety of ways to do this, but putting brown faces on the website doesn't count, nor does tacking on diversity in the mission statement or core values. I need to get a sense that the organization is taking active steps toward learning and growing in that regard. It doesn't have to be anything grand, but if I ask, "What are you doing to make your organization anti-racist?" even something as simple as, "Our Program Director is going to participate in the Undoing Racism Workshop by the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond," will mean a lot.

I know this will be more difficult since I'm no longer in NYC, but I'm also still participating in the Task Force despite being hundreds of miles away. There are ways to do this. All I need now are the right people to come with me.

Creating art and self from the intersections

With the $1 Play Project underway (and if you have 60 seconds and $1.00, you really should give what you can), and way too much to do in not enough time, I want to take a moment (read: procrastinate) and talk about what it's like and what it means to create art from a perspective of intersectionality.

Before buzzwords like “intersectionality” came along, a lot of people assumed that womanhood was White, Blackness was male, and both were straight. When Black feminists and womanists proclaimed that All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, But Some Of Us Are Brave, they created a new paradigm for examining race, gender, and sexuality that centered on the lives of Black women.

When I started writing Tulpa, or Anne&Me in late 2009, I had no idea I'd be doing the same thing for theatre. As much as I like to fantasize otherwise, I'm not really all that brave. I hate pain (receiving or inflicting it), and I am more easily hurt than I often let on. I'm much more prone to shyness, anxiety, depression, and exhaustion than my online persona indicates. My outspokenness about racism, sexism, and homophobia says more about their magnitude and the peril they pose to human beings than about any particular courage or wisdom on my part.

So when I set out to put down on paper some of the many thoughts and feelings I have when I try to relate to White women about race and gender (all from the perspective of a woman who loves women), it wasn't because I was intentionally trying to provoke people. It initially started out on my LiveJournal on something of a lark that channeled my infatuation with Anne Hathaway into something more meaningful. Since the discussions about race I was having with real White women were often so lacking, why not make up the conversations I wanted to have?

As Black women, we are constantly being asked to hide away or tear off chunks of who we are to make us safer for consumption. When we are with women, we're supposed to magically forget we are Black. When we are Black, we're supposed to ignore our womanhood. And we'd better keep that queer shit deep in the closet if we know what's good for us. Yet in Tulpa, all three of these identities are necessary to fully understanding the characters and the story.

Tulpa, or Anne&Me is not Intro to Intersectionality. The dialogue is pretty exclusively about race. But it's a queer woman's experience of race and how it impacts her most personal moments. The play focuses on an intimate relationship. But it's a relationship between women trying to maintain that intimacy in the face of racism and what that means for both of them.

“Your silence will not protect you,” Audre Lorde once said. Even prior to reading Sister Outsider, I may have sensed that this was true. As much as I hate being the center of attention or the object of scrutiny, the alternative – my silence – was even worse. My silence would mean allowing someone other than myself to define what my life means or what it should mean. My silence would mean becoming a shadow not only of myself but to myself. My silence would mean accepting my own dehumanization.

Despite the fact that I live as a queer Black woman in my queer Black woman body, as an artist I often wrestle with a sense that my life as I live it diminishes my art because it's somehow not as universal. But creating Tulpa, or Anne&Me cured me of that.

My art does not happen despite my queer Black woman self but directly because of it.

My queer Black woman self is not an obstacle to my humanity – it's the key to truly acknowledging and understanding it.

Watch this video - Gay in America: Color Lines Across Rainbow Skies

Xem Van Adams' Gay in America: Color Lines Across Rainbow Skies explores ethnic and racial divides in the LGBTQ community. It's a look at queerness that rarely get highlighted in mainstream media when it comes to LGBTQ people (who are always assumed to be affluent and White).

I love the emphasis on personal stories and reflections as opposed to a more academic or journalistic style. It humanizes the issues in ways that a more "objective" approach cannot.

Allan Johnson: Unraveling the Knot of Race

Required reading

This review of Limitless at Movies by Bowes.

White Woman Feminist, an essay by Marilyn Frye from Willful Virgin: Essays in Feminism.

Go After the Privilege, not the Tits: Afterthoughts on Amanda Wallace and White Female Privilege at Racialicious.

thought experiment: racial power analysis of indie theatre scene

I want you to participate in a little thought experiment. But first, I need to give you some background information.

I came across an article by Zora Neale Hurston called "What White Publishers Won't Print," and I'm sighing and shaking my head at how relevant it still is.

I've recently been involved with The People's Institute for Survival and Beyond's women of color anti-racist organizing group. What I really enjoy about this group is that it's not about tools and skills. It's not about rhetoric. It's about transforming institutions through anti-racist principles. In other words, The People's Institute forces us to look at what we take for granted and see how it contributes to racial marginalization and oppression. This is the most crucial aspect of anti-racist organizing*. Without a grounding in these core principles, we risk perpetuating racial marginalization and oppression despite our best intentions.

* What I love about The People's Institute is how they demystify organizing as something that only "experts" can do. The process of anti-racist organizing is extremely accessible to anyone who cares enough to put a little time and energy into it.

While racism is the focus of The People's Institute, the principles they use can apply to other forms of oppression as well. This does not mean that you should rip off their work and apply it to other forms of oppression without first wrestling with race. No, no, hell no. What I do mean is that once you understand how racism works, you have a leg up in understanding and counteracting other marginalizations and oppressions.

* Seriously, the last thing people of color need is yet another White person coming in, stealing our shit, and profiting off of it.

If you ever get a chance to attend one of their workshops, I highly recommend that you go. But for now I'd like to focus on a few ideas that really stood out to me as highly relevant to the indie theatre scene. All of the principles connect with each other. However, let's examine two or three: analyzing power and gatekeeping.

This is where we come to the thought experiment. It's very simple. I'm going to ask a few questions, and you answer as fully as you can. But first, a few ground rules.

1. Focus on race. Too often, when it comes to discussing race, the temptation is to ignore or erase that and make it all about something else. Without question, all systems of oppression are linked, but let's not pretend that we already know everything there is to know about race and how it functions in our lives.
2. This is engagement, not debate. This is a place for thinking and reflection, not judgment. Practice active listening. Nobody is on trial. Racism is not a charge you have to defend against. It's merely the situation we're dealing with because it was built into the fabric of our society.
3. Speak from your own experience. Talk from your own life. It's OK not to know this right away because we're trained not to think or talk about it like this. Parroting what somebody else said or regurgitating something you read or heard somewhere else turns this from a human interaction into an academic one.

Power analysis

1. Where is power concentrated? 
2. Who exercises power?
3. Who controls and/or has access to resources?
4. What barriers prevent full participation?
5. What are the effects of the power structures?

In your experience, how does the indie theatre scene do the following?

1. Exclude
2. Exploit
3. Oppress
4. Underserve

Gatekeeping

1. Which institutions and/or organizations do you work with?
2. What community does it serve?
3. Who is in that community? Where do people of color fit into that community?
4. Where does your organization or institution interact with that community?
5. Who describes that community?
6. Who represents that community?
7. Who speaks for that community?
8. Who mediates with or for that community?
9. Who evaluates the people within that community?
10. Who speaks for that community?
11. Who helps people navigate the system?
12. Who has access to your organization or institution?
13. Who are the leaders in your organization or institution? Who is represented in that leadership?
14. Who gets people to join your organization or institution?

Of course, there's no pressure to answer all of these questions right away. Just some things to think about. Feel free to leave answers here or to link to this post on your own blog with your answers.

For my straight White male friends re: Ramona Flowers (may contain spoilers for "Scott Pilgrim vs. The World")

(H/t: neo_prodigy, re: "What If Scott Pilgrim Wasn't A Straight White Male?")

Dear Straight White Guy Friend:

Are we friends? I mean friend-friends? Like we can be honest with each other about things?

That Ramona Flowers girl you keep ogling as soon as her scent is in the air? Can't stand her ass. I hate her guts. I hate her fashionably pale, barely legal-looking, wig-wearing, roller-blading, spiritual-but-not-religious ass. Seriously, whenever I get a whiff of her, I'm like this:



It's enough to make me forget I like women! And considering my taste in women, that's just wrong.

I hate Ramona Flowers for what she says to the rest of womankind. She says to us, "Don't take responsibility for your life. Cultivate worldly innocence and play muse to some random lowlife instead." She says to us, "Don't fight your own battles or use your own strength. Pretend to be helpless and get some pathetic slacker to do it for you." She says to us, "If you're cute and skinny and White enough, you won't have to do anything for yourself." She says to us, "Don't make choices and accept consequences! Wait around for the right people to pick you and feel like the victim for not getting the life you wanted." She says to us, "If you want to be loved, you must first and foremost be a fantasy. You are not allowed to be a complete and complex human being."

Simply put, she's a fake, a phony, a passing fancy. There's nothing real about her but the damage she does. I could almost respect her game if there was anything new in it, anything of substance that would make her appealing besides not being like your parents. I won't even say weird. Wednesday Addams is weird. The Ramonas of the world are merely quirky.

Speaking of damage, what kind of person has seven evil exes? I'm not going on that "What did she do to turn them evil?" nonsense. For real, what kind of person would choose to have a relationship with somebody evil who has superpowers? Not just once - seven fucking times!

Let's take the superpowers out of it. As a matter of fact, let's flip the script and make it your mom or your sister or some other woman you care about but don't want to sleep with. If she were seeing someone who had seven evil exes, wouldn't you be just a little bit concerned about her? Let's take this to the real world where instead of seven evil exes with superpowers, it could be seven evil exes with hardcore underworld connections. Would your assessment of the situation be different? I'm not saying you should judge people by who they used to date, but you should wonder about the company they keep, especially if said company will fucking kill you!

*sigh*

File this under Dumb Shit Guys Do They Wouldn't Let Their Mom or Sister Get Away With.

The next time you see Ramona Flowers, wipe the pixie dust out your eyes and take a good hard look at who you're with. You might not feel so enchanted when you realize the hell you'd be putting yourself through for something that's really not worth it.


Yours truly,

Me

P.S. For my feminist and womanist sisters, the next time you see Ramona Flowers, kick her in the cunt and beat her over the head with bell hooks until the words sink into her brain.

Top 10 things that won't get said in "Tulpa, or Anne&Me"

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Sometimes (probably even most times), what you don't say is more important than what you do say. In the spirit of remaining silent and being thought a fool instead of opening your mouth and removing all doubt, I present my own personal Top 10 - a list of Things That Won't Get Said in Tulpa, or Anne&Me (so we can have a real conversation already):

10. "Anti-racist"
9. "White privilege"
8. "The Autobiography of Malcolm X"
7. "Part Cherokee"
6. "Colorblind"
5. "I have Black friends"
4. "Reverse racism"
3. "Why are Black people so angry?"
2. "I'm not racist, but . . . "
1. (White Woman's Tears)

Inspiration: Racism Bingo.

Viva le revolution! Travis sez, "Fuggedabout 'em!"

Travis Bedard says something at 2am Theatre ("Revolution") that I've been thinking for a while, but more politely than I would.

 . . . a modest proposal: Forget about them.

I don’t mean the Arena Stages and David Dowers, or the A.C.T. and Portland Center Stages… Every Theatre Bay Area, League of Chicago Theatres, and Austin Creative Alliance that buys in to the conversation is better for us|them|we.  But if the big boys and girls don’t want to play? Forget about them.

We can’t make revolution simply about resources. Most of the folks taking part in the conversation have few. It has to be about ideas. It has to be about creation. We have to eliminate the culture of ownership that drives business and foster a culture of shared ideas.

. . . . . . . . . .

Give it away. Publish your thoughts. Your ideas. Hell, even your scripts if you don’t intend to publish them traditionally. Look into Creative Commons and what it means (Lucas Krech has a great post here to get you started).

See, I'm all for this shit. I must be crazy since I look at an empty space and get paralyzed by the possibilities. I look at what can happen and wonder, "What's stopping it?"

Part of me believes it's the Somebody Oughta Do Something Syndrome. You know - where people know good and goddamned well something that could work, something they could actually do, and then they don't because . . . who knows?

SOMEBODY: I can't stand the way things are going on today! Somebody oughta do something!
ME: Like what?
SOMEBODY: What if XYZ happened? That would change things so much, and it doesn't cost anything! Anybody could do it!
ME: What's stopping you?
SOMEBODY: (Blank stare)

Or perhaps another scenario . . .

SOMEBODY: There's gotta be a way to make this more interesting, more interactive, more . . . something.
ME: Why don't you do something simple yet effective that helps you and others?
SOMEBODY: Yeah, that could work!
ME: Can I try it out with you?
SOMEBODY: (Blank stare)

Or this one that gets kicked around all the time . . .

SOMEBODY: We need more diversity in theatre! Where are all the women and people of color?
ME: (Raises hand)
SOMEBODY: How can we get more women and people of color actor on the theatre blogosphere?
ME: (Points to my blog)
SOMEBODY: Where are all the women and people of color?
ME: (Blank stare)

(Six months later . . .)

SOMEBODY: Where's all the diversity in theatre? All I see are a bunch of White guys!
ME: (Makes a sign that reads, "Woman of Color over here" with an arrow pointing to myself and a link to my blog)
SOMEBODY: Why don't we hear more from women and people of color?
ME: (Showing somebody the sign)
SOMEBODY: What do we do? What do we do?
ME: (Blank stare)

(Six months later . . . )

SOMEBODY: Why don't we hear more about works by women and people of color?
ME: (Sets off fireworks that reads, "RVCBard [arrow pointing at me] is a woman of color. You can reach her at [url, e-mail, address, phone number])
SOMEBODY: Seriously, that's fucked up. We really should be more inclusive of women and people of color.
ME: (Has aneurysm and dies)

(Six months later . . .)

SOMEBODY: RVCBard's been quiet lately.
SOMEBODY ELSE: Who?
SOMEBODY: You know, that one with the No Face icon.
SOMEBODY ELSE: Oh, yeah. I thought maybe she quit. Couldn't hack it, y'know?
SOMEBODY: Yeah, she was pretty hypersensitive about the racial shit.
SOMEBODY ELSE: Mm-hm. Gotta be tough to play with the big boys.
SOMEBODY: Yup.
SOMEBODY ELSE: . . .
SOMEBODY: . . .
SOMEBODY ELSE: I've been thinking. We could use more diversity in theatre. Especially with writers.
SOMEBODY: Yeah, but where are all the women and people of color?

Oh, HELL yes!

Alienated Conclusions gives us the Black Girl's Manifesto: The Basic Rights of Femininity. A few drops of awesome sauce:

6. Black women and girls have the right to love, to be loved, to be treated as human beings effortlessly.


15. Black women and girls have the right to sexual freedom and identity. Like straight black women, GLBT black women have the RIGHT to demand fairness and marriage over the stereotypes that prevent it.


21. It is not black women's responsibilities to take on the burdens of their community, anymore than any other women, because of their skin color.


30. Black women have the right to reject white feminism, black male nationalism, liberalism, anarchism, and so forth because it does not apply to their particular circumstances. They are allowed to do so without fear of alienating potential ally's. Such groups have never really considered their particular struggles to begin with.

Go read the rest here!

Food for thought

On the heels of reading bell hooks' Black Looks: Race and Representation, I came across this speech by Theresa Rebeck.

I have been told so many times over the years that theaters and foundations are interested in “diversity” but that doesn’t mean women.

At the time, I couldn't figure out why I winced when I read that. Then I remembered something I'd read in "The Oppositional Gaze" in Black Looks:

Feminist film theory rooted in an ahistorical psychoanalytic framework that privileges sexual difference actively suppresses recognition of race, reenacting and mirroring the erasure of black womanhood [. . . ] many feminist film critics continue to structure their discourse as though it speaks about "women" when in actuality it speaks only about white women.

To be fair, Rebeck herself outright states that she was not deliberately pushing a feminist agenda, so critiquing her comment along the lines of a theory she plainly says she isn't pursuing would be problematic to say the least. However, I do find her comment illuminating simply because of the things I've been addressing with intersectionality.

Native Star comments that:

I would throw into the discussion that as dismal as these stats are for ‘women’, what happens when we address the silence of women of color?

While we are often expected to root for team womanhood in unison, far too often the diversity of what it means to walk this planet as a woman is lost when all are expected to gather and worship beneath the great white tent.

I have no firmly held opinions on the matter, only my own observations from what life has taught me so far. Without turning this into a thesis project, the idea I'm considering is that the commonplace association of Blackness with masculinity and femininity with Whiteness almost guarantees the erasure of Black women from the mainstream theatrical landscape unless cultural gatekeepers actively resist that tendency through learning more intersectionality.

I'm not sure I can really investigate this more fully. To be honest, I hope someone else can see where it goes.

Interesting reading to do

I came across a preview for Derald Wing Sue's Microaggressions in Everyday Life: Race, Gender, and Sexual Orientation. Perhaps having copies of this on hand for those . . . "educational" moments would help my blood pressure a bit. Although all three categories are things I deal with on a daily basis, I wonder what if it addresses intersectionality (even obliquely) like . . .

Sheri Parks' Fierce Angels: The Strong Black Woman in American Life and Culture. I hear you groaning now. "More of that Black woman stuff?" Yes, but think of it as research before you go creating Yet Another Black Best Friend.

The personal is radical - reflections on my current piece

There is something terribly radical about believing that one's own 

experiences and images are important enough 

to speak about, much less to write about and to perform.

--Deb Margolin, A Perfect Theater for One, 1997

Recently I've been thinking about how Anne&Me is, at its core, an act of radical subjectivity. For marginalized groups, it has always been a struggle to express the wholeness of who we are. Claiming the "I" - embracing one's own self as intrinsically valuable simply because it exists - is a radical political statement.

It is radical because affirming ourselves by telling our own stories and speaking our own truths, without an attempt at justification, is a transgressive and transformative act, a direct challenge to hegemonic power (the ultimate expression of which is the power to define what is true and worthy) and a catalyst for healing the internal wounds inflicted upon us by an environment that says that who we are doesn't matter. It undermines hegemonic power by revealing its own subjectivity, effectively neutralizing its power to define and determine truth and value for all people by exposing it as merely one truth among many.

This is not just a long-winded way of saying everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I'm talking about something far more nuanced and powerful: how we exist in this world. For someone with limited experience with marginalization (and I mean experience, not just entertaining the idea), it's easy to overlook or dismiss its importance. But those of us who live with marginalized identities know the power of finally realizing that we do not have to apologize for being ourselves or prove we are worthy of existing or endorse behaviors and attitudes that make us less whole.

Getting back to theatre and my current piece, Anne&Me is radical not only because it comes from me but because it's also about me - and as a piece of theatre, people literally have to see it. There's no filter named Narrator or Camera to distance people from it. It's right in their faces. In an earlier draft of the play, someone commented that it feels like someone's diary, so they were reluctant to critique it. At the time I was a bit annoyed by that, but now I'm in a position where I can say, "Good."

When does a play with issues become an Issue Play?

I saw Garlia Jones' Stranger in My Body at the New School on Saturday, and I came back to witness a reading Monday night for Blackboard Play reading series at the Cell. I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially when watching what the actors brought to the readings of the characters, both on stage and in a reading.

After the reading there was a brief talkback. Several people made comments to the effect that they were relieved that Stranger in My Body was not an "issue play." I found that . . . odd (read: slightly disturbing), particularly since the blurb about the play makes it quite plain that Stranger in My Body grapples with Issues. I also found it odd (read: slightly disturbing) to see who the comments were coming from, especially taking into account the playwright herself and the performers. Here are a few things to give you some context:

• The playwright: cisgender Black woman.
• The actors: 2 Black women, a White woman, a Black man, and non-American woman - all cisgender as far as I know.
• The audience: 20-30 people, male-to-female ratio about even, a 50-50 split of White and non-White. All cisgender as far as I know.
• The people who said that they liked Stranger in My Body for not being an issue play - all White.
• From the looks of it, a mixture of sexual orientations.

Let me get this out of the way: I'm sure they meant it as a compliment. Apparently, many plays that deal directly with "issues" can come across as pretty fucking didactic. I can see why that would turn people off. Nobody likes to be manipulated, and no one likes being told what to think or how to feel. I get that.

But that's not what I'm talking about, so please don't make comments pointing out the obvious.

Here is where I start to squirm a bit. Of all the things that Stranger in My Body does right, what's with the trend of praising it for not being an "issue play"? What is that even supposed to mean in this context? The play itself has issues all over the place - gender issues, sexuality issues, religion issues. Stranger in My Body focuses on the lives of its characters and their relationships with one another, but does not make it apolitical. Hell, the play opens up at a fucking voting booth! The personal is political, and all that.

What am I supposed to take from this sort of commentary? The playwright is a Black woman who writes a play full of Black characters who don't make race the topic of conversation, and that's what's praiseworthy about it? Nevermind the sensitivity and nuance she brings when she writes about a man trapped in a woman's body. Nevermind how she brings complexity and depth to characters who would be all to easy to stereotype. Nevermind her skill at writing naturalistic dialogue that flows smoothly and feels spontaneous each time the actors say the words. Nope - the thing that 3 or 4 people felt most compelled to comment on is that Stranger in My Body is not an issue play or a topical play, but the only topic I see not getting any attention is race.

No, I'm not going to make this post about race per se, but I will venture a working theory I have about what constitutes an "issue play." Especially considering this discussion happening over at Parabasis, I'm starting to get the idea that an "issue play" is any play that directly confronts the experience of a marginalized identity that makes those who are not marginalized in the same way feel uncomfortable.

I wish I could be more precise than that, but I'm working with what seems to be the only two criteria: privilege and discomfort.

What do you think an "issue play" is?

The visibility of Whiteness

When it comes to race, a lot of people (including people of color) assume - if not outright state - that White is a lack of race, an empty ethnicity, the default, normal, invisible. As a result, when it comes to matters of race, Whiteness becomes impartial, objective, unbiased, rational, common sense.

I'm sure you can imagine how this plays out in racial discourse. Whiteness is positioned as true and therefore right.

Of course, no one thinks that consciously (duh!), but it often comes out in how, in a weird sort of way, White people seem to act like they're only White when the topic of discussion is racism and not every waking moment of their lives. And this confuses the shit out of me because that's like a straight person acting like they're only heterosexual when the issue of gay marriage crops up. Or a man acting like the only time he notices gender is when people bring up sexism. To which the only prudent response is to disengage before the intensity of delusion makes your head explode.

Intersections: Race, Gender, Sexuality, Class

African Americans First Gay Couple to Marry in Washington

I think that it is important that all see this video. There is so much talk about homophobia in the Black community, that those who are same gender loving, who are both gay and Black are erased. Their stories and their truth is ignored and silenced in order to push the grand narrative. Let their love stand as a testimony that gay rights are an issue for people of colour because Black gays and lesbians are affected by homophobia.

LGBT Athletes of Color: Intersections of Racism, Sexism, and Heterosexism

Addressing discrimination and prejudice against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) athletes and coaches requires an understanding of how other identities besides sexual orientation or gender identity affect LGBT experience. Every athlete and coach is more than their sexual orientation or gender identity. Race, economic class and religion are among the many other aspects of social identity that add to the complexities of addressing discrimination and prejudice in athletics. The interactions of these identities complicate the experiences of LGBT people in athletics and make the experiences of individual LGBT athletes and coaches different from each other.

Is Homophobia the Same as Racism-Sexism?

For example, at the University of Texas at Austin, I had a roommate who took a race relations class. He was white. For some reason the professor brought in a young gay male who stated that he knew what it was like to be black because he was homosexual. I assume that he would probably argue that he knows what it is like to be a woman as well. That is problematic for me because I do not think he knows what it is like to be an African-American or a woman. Likewise, I do not know what it is like to be gay. It is easy to think that racism is just like sexism, homophobia, and classism. That is an easy way to think about the problems of discrimination. Then we do not have to think about the distinctions in those persons due to whatever unique characteristics he/she possesses. In academia people are taking the easy way out. What is easy politically can be intellectually dishonest.

The Other Black Unwoman (at TransGriot)

One of the things I thought about was how Black women are considered by society as the 'unwoman'.

Black women aren't considered beautiful vis a vis the vanilla tinged beauty standard. We're considered 'angry ' just for speaking our minds, less than intelligent despite having advanced degrees earned with summa cum laude grades, and when we excel in athletic endeavors we're presumed to have either cheated or it's dismissed because of 'natural ability'.

Black feminism wiki article

Homophobia and racism: the failed policy of ranking oppressions

The Truth That Never Hurts: Writings on Race, Gender, and Freedom

African Ancestral Lesbians United for Social Change

Yes, we exist - LGBTQ POCs

Seriously, you'd think that'd be freaking obvious. But apparently it isn't. Where the hell do people think disco music came from?

How NOT to engage in a conversation about racism (or any other -ism or -phobia)

Just read the comments for this post. It all goes downhill from about here.

Home training in minority spaces

"A Deeper Look at Minority Spaces" at Official Shrub.com:

The role of a privileged person in a minority discussion is not one that is easy to define. The reason I emphasise the “listening instead of talking” and not trying to always compare a privileged situation to that of a minority problem in my list is because, more often than not, talking instead of listening and bringing up how an issue does/does not affect their group are methods used by privileged people that, by their nature, shut down discussion.

At Love|Peace|Ohana:

"What Kind of Friend Are You?"

“who wins?” That’s your problem right there. This isn’t about winning or losing. This is about you having said something that offends/hurts someone else, and whether you’re going to continue offending/hurting them by arguing about the offense, or whether you’re going to apologise and attempt to make amends. In short, whether you’re going to be hostile or friendly.

"Ground Rules for Discussion"

*Listen actively.* This means more than just waiting for your turn to speak; it means asking for clarification, offering constructive feedback, and validating what someone has said. It also means reading the post and commenting on the actual content, instead of skimming and filling in the rest with what you think was said.

Dialogue vs. Debate

"Race Relations 101 - What if I screw up?"

When that happens in a minority space or in the context of a difficult conversation, take a step back: ask yourself whether you’re feeling attacked because of the conversation (“White people have white privilege, and as a white person, you do too.”), or because of a specific incident (“You’re an asshole.”). If it’s the latter, take it like you would any other confrontation; deal with the person and the situation, and don’t let it color your perceptions of other people in their identity class, or discussions of that type.
If it’s the former, keep talking. Specific thoughts on how to deal with topics that come up will have to wait for later, I’m afraid… but the important part is to recognize that you personally are not being attacked, which brings us to…

 "For everyone who wants to 'learn' something about racism":
You say you want to be educated, to listen, to learn. My question is:

what are you bringing to the table in return?

Do you expect for folks to dredge up their memories and experience and lay them out like a banquet where you eat, then burp and possibly don't say anything beyond 'thank you, that was nice. What's for dessert?'

Do you leave the table, digesting what you've heard, then go out in the world and try to make change?

Hint: crying and feeling bad really don't cut it, IMO. I'm liable to hand you some tissues and that's about it.